


Twenty Questions

by empressearwig



Category: Hidden Legacy Series - Ilona Andrews
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-ship, Stakeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/pseuds/empressearwig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mad Rogan invites himself along on a stakeout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Questions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anticyclone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/gifts).



"I’m bored," said Mad Rogan.

Nevada didn’t turn her head, but cut her eyes towards the passenger seat of her car. "I told you that stakeouts were boring."

Rogan ignored her response, just like he’d ignored her when she’d tried to convince him that tagging along on her routine divorce case surveillance was a terrible idea.

"You should entertain me," he said. "I’m your guest; didn’t your mother teach you that you have a responsibility to see to the comfort of your guests?"

Nevada snorted. "I’m pretty sure that doesn’t apply to people who invite themselves over."

"It should," Mad Rogan said.

Nevada could feel his eyes fixed on her, could almost see his most charming smile being beamed in her direction. She stared resolutely forward.

"What do you want me to do about it?" she asked. "You can’t leave, you know. You’ll mess up this case and then I’ll have to hurt you."

"You’ll try," said Mad Rogan, sounding amused at the prospect of her being able to harm him. "How’s that worked out for you before?"

She would not shock him. She would not shock him.

"Let’s play a game," she said through gritted teeth. "I spy?"

"It’s dark."

"Capitals."

"Too boring."

"The picnic game."

"Lame."

Nevada let out a huff of frustration and finally looked at him. He was staring back at her, a shit eating grin on his face.

"Made you look," he said.

She couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. "What, are you twelve?"

"Thirty, actually." He stretched as much as he could in the confined space of her sedan, his muscles bunching appealingly in ways that Nevada had sworn she wouldn’t let herself think about. He caught her looking and the smile on his face turned seductive. "Well, well."

"No."

"But Nevada," he said, his voice almost a low purr, "you want to."

"I want a lot of things," she said. "A million dollars, a pony, muzzles for my sisters. I’ve learned to do without."

"But you don’t have to," Mad Rogan said. He reached out to touch her, and Nevada batted his hand away, but not before he sent a pulse of energy through her.

She bit back the gasp that wanted to escape. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—give him the satisfaction.

"Spoilsport," Mad Rogan said, the look on his face telling her that he'd caught enough feedback to know how much she'd liked it anyway.

"Pouting isn’t attractive on anyone over the age of five."

"Liar."

She didn’t smile. "Since you don’t like any of my suggestions for games, you pick."

There was silence from Mad Rogan’s side of the car.

Nevada turned her head towards him. "What, did you never go on a long family car trip as a kid?"

He frowned at her, almost looking hurt. "Our childhoods were very different, Nevada. I believe we’ve discussed that before."

She winced, remembering what he'd told her once about his grandfather's death. A family like that probably didn't take trips to Disneyworld on spring break. And if they did, they flew first class, not crammed into a minivan for the thirteen hour drive from Houston to Orlando. 

Nevada had hated those car rides as a kid, squeezed against the window while Bern and Arabella argued over whose turn it was to pick the music, but somehow, she was strangely grateful for them now. But Rogan wouldn't be grateful for the pity.

"Twenty questions," she said. "Final offer."

"Sold," said Mad Rogan. "I'll go first."

Nevada eyed him suspiciously. There was something about his easy acquiescence that made her wary of whatever he was planning, but she had suggested the game and she wasn't a coward. "Is it a place?"

"No."

"Is it a person?"

"No."

"Is it a thing?"

"No."

Nevada turned to face him and Mad Rogan was grinning at her, clearly enjoying himself. "Are you cheating?"

"No," said Mad Rogan. "And that counts as one of your questions. You have sixteen left."

Nevada decided to abandon that strategy and tried to think like Mad Rogan. "Is it in this car?"

"Yes."

Nevada smiled smugly. Men were exactly the same, whether they were eight or thirty. Bern had always picked things he could see too.

She glanced around the car surreptitiously, trying to guess what he might choose.

"No cheating," said Mad Rogan. "I think you should get docked a question for that."

Nevada sat up straighter in her seat and prepared to argue the point. She was a veteran of twenty questions rule disputes. She would not lose.

"There's nothing in the rules that says I can't gather my thoughts."

"You weren't gathering your thoughts," said Mad Rogan. "You were trying to guess mine."

She gave in to the eye roll. "That's the point of the game."

He looked like he wanted to argue the point further, but waves his hand in dismissal instead. "Fine. Fifteen questions left."

"Is it plastic?"

Mad Rogan choked back a laugh. "I hope not."

It only took her a second, then she said through gritted teeth, "Would you have been trying to make me guess my breasts?"

"Yes," he said, with no shame whatsoever. "Did you want to let me confirm my answer to that last question? I wouldn't want to have steered you in the wrong direction."

She ignored him. "My turn."

Mad Rogan grinned and stretched his legs out. "Do your worst."

"You'd enjoy that too much," Nevada muttered under her breath. She tried to think of something that he would never in a million years think of. Something completely unrelated to sex.

Her lips curved up into a small, smug smile as it came to her. "I'm ready."

Mad Rogan raised his eyebrows at that, but asked his first question. "Is it in this car?"

"No."

"Is it a person?"

"No."

"Is it a place?"

"No. Seventeen questions."

"I can count," he drawled. "Can you eat it?"

She frowned. He wasn't supposed to come within a city block of guessing that easily. "Yes."

"Brussel sprouts," he said, with complete confidence.

Nevada's jaw dropped. "How did you--"

He smiled smugly. "It was the least sexual thing I could think of. I assumed you would try to move the game in that direction." He leaned closer, so that his breath skidded across her skin. "My way is more fun."

Her teeth ground together so hard it hurt. "Your turn."

"Sure," he said, all easy agreement. "By the way, I had fifteen questions left. You'll have to do better."

"Is it one of my body parts?"

"No."

"Is it one of your body parts?"

Rogan stroked his hand across his chin, thoughtfully. "No."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is it something I could do to one of your body parts?"

He grinned. "Yes."

"Blow job," she said. "And in your wildest dreams, buddy."

"I assure you, you're doing much more interesting things in my wildest dreams," Mad Rogan said. "Blow jobs feature in a small, but thoroughly enjoyed percentage of my day-to-day dreaming." 

Hers too, but there was no way in hell she was admitting that. 

Nevada closed her eyes, tried to control her breathing. She tried to think about the zen that Catalina had been talking incessantly about lately. She suspected she wasn't a very zen person, because it didn't help.

"Nevada?" said Mad Rogan.

"I'm looking for inner peace," she said, not opening her eyes. "Be quiet."

"Okay," he said doubtfully. "But I'm pretty sure someone is sneaking out of the house we've been staking out."

Nevada's eyes flew open, her hands reaching for the camera that was on the console between them. Mad Rogan was right, there was definitely someone trying and failing to leave the house in a stealthy way. She started snapping pictures, trying to make up for the ones that she'd missed because Mad Rogan had distracted her, but she was already beating herself up for letting her client down.

She snapped until the man got to his car that he had parked right at the curb, took pictures of that too, being sure to capture the license plate and his guilty face. Only when he drove away, did she set the camera down.

"Shit," she said, disgusted at herself.

"You caught him," said Mad Rogan.

"I owed my client the most complete information possible," Nevada countered. "And I didn't provide it to them."

Mad Rogan shifted in his seat, looking the slightest bit guilty. "I suppose that's my fault."

"Yes," she said. "But I'm responsible for my own choices. I could have not let you make me crazy."

Mad Rogan looked at her with pity. "Nevada."

She sighed, knowing he was right. She put the camera back on the console, and turned the key in the ignition. 

What had happened was done. She'd gotten her client enough, even if it wasn't her very best effort. It wasn't worth beating herself up over. She would just have to do better next time.

"Do I get to come with on the next stakeout?" Mad Rogan asked.

Nevada only screamed on the inside.


End file.
